


The Revolutionaries

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Grantaire's concerned, nobody gives a shit about the bassist of The Revolutionaries without the rest of the band. He's absolutely fine with that. He doesn't want the attention anyway, and he sure as hell doesn't want all the rumours and speculation from strangers who seem to be able to read him a hell of a lot better than Enjolras can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Revolutionaries

The audience is so loud that it's thunderous, their fans cheering and yelling their names. Courfeyrac has his phone out, snapping pictures of the audience. Bahorel and Jehan are doing the same, so Grantaire slides his phone out of his pocket too. He doesn't really see the point of taking the same photos as everyone else, so he turns his camera towards his bandmates, snapping photos of them instead.

He takes one of Bahorel, standing behind his drums and waving at the audience. He takes photos of Combeferre and Courfeyrac, guitars slung over their shoulders and large smiles on their faces. Jehan has left his keyboard, walking around so he can stand at the front of the stage and take a proper picture of the audience.

Enjolras looks breathtaking, one hand still on the microphone stand, lips parted as he regains his breath, hair damp with sweat. The coloured lights from the projector play across his face and Grantaire can't help himself. He takes more photos of Enjolras than of the rest of the band members combined.

They play their encore and thank everyone for a great tour. It's the final concert before they get back into the studio to record their next album. Grantaire is glad for the down-time that it will bring. They take a quick break backstage before going out to meet their fans and sign autographs. Grantaire uses the time to pick his favourite pictures, posting them on Instagram. There's an account for the entire band, run by Combeferre, but Grantaire prefers posting his pictures to his own feed. He doesn't need to think as hard about the captions, because he can just be _himself_ and nobody expects him to maintain the enthusiastic but detached tone that Combeferre is always so good at whenever he interacts with the fans or the media.

He posts one picture each for the rest of his bandmates, and three of Enjolras. One of them a wide shot that has the rest of the band in the background too, one in which he's addressing the audience, and one close-up shot of his face, under the gold light from the projector. He only captions the last one, typing out _Apollo_ before posting. He slides his phone back into his pocket, ignoring the immediate rush of notifications, and follows the others out to meet the fans.

The thing is, The Revolutionaries might be a popular band, but most of that has to do with Enjolras. Combeferre and Courfeyrac get their fair share of attention too, from being the lead and second guitar, and from being Enjolras' best friends. Jehan has his own little fan base of people who adore him for how gentle he is, and how quickly that can change if he's provoked.

No one really cares about the bassist, and Grantaire is totally fine with that. Most of the fans who stop him and ask him for photos or autographs recognise him and Bahorel from the fact that they regularly hack into the band's Twitter account when they're bored, posting dumb selfies and even dumber tweets that attract them even more followers, but the unending frustration of Eponine, their PR manager. They're lucky she loves them so much; it's the only reason she sticks to loudly and frequently plotting their deaths, instead of actually following through.

"You'd better put this up on the internet somewhere," Bahorel says, wrapping an arm around a fan's shoulders. "Make your friends fucking jealous."

Grantaire receives an artwork from a fan referencing a tweet that he doesn't remember because he was too drunk at the time, but he appreciates it all the same. He grins at her, promising that it's going on his wall of fanworks. She looks just about ready to faint and he squeezes her shoulder before moving on to the next fan waiting for him.

By the time they're done with the fans, Grantaire checks his phone to find several notifications from both Twitter and Instagram. He scrolls through the ones on Instagram first, skimming the comments with no real intention of replying. There's a comment on one of his pictures of Enjolras that says, _I swear, you've got a bigger crush on Enjolras than I do_ , which makes him laugh to himself, and is also a good indicator that it's time to clear his notifications and put his phone away.

"Hey, R…" Bahorel says, his phone in his hand as they get into their tour bus. He's got his own Instagram feed open, and Grantaire simply shakes his head.

He doesn't really care what the fans have to say about him. They can speculate all over the internet for all he cares; it's not going to change anything and it sure as hell isn't going to reach Enjolras, who stays as far away from social media as he can get, leaving it to Courfeyrac and Combeferre. It's a wise decision, made mostly by Eponine. Enjolras had tried Twitter once and gotten into an ideological debate with a fan before Eponine had made the executive decision that he delete his account.

Courfeyrac is giving Grantaire an odd look too, and which he ignores. Courfeyrac might be close to Enjolras, but he's never said a thing about how Grantaire may or may not feel. Grantaire is pretty sure that the rest of the band knows anyway. Every single one of them except for Enjolras. Grantaire is perfectly fine with that, because he knows that they aren't going to ask him about it. They won't make him _talk_ about it, and it's not like he's ever confirmed anything anyway. The fact that most of the photos he takes are of Enjolras probably says enough, just like the fact that most candid pictures of the band members have him looking in Enjolras' direction.

"Grantaire." Enjolras' voice pulls him out of his thoughts. Enjolras is standing in front of him, a slight curve to his lips. "Good playing tonight."

It's just something Enjolras says to all of them after a concert, but it makes Grantaire smile anyway. Enjolras pats his shoulder and Grantaire covers the hand with one of his own, squeezing gently.

Enjolras gives him a look that Grantaire can't quite read and they hold each other's gazes until Grantaire doesn't know what to do with the attention and clears his throat. "So. Are we drinking or what?"

"I might just stay back," Marius says, which they all know actually means that he's going to spend the night with Cosette, their merchandise manager.

Feuilly knows a quiet, hole-in-the-wall bar that they can go to without being swamped by fans. They grab a booth at the back, joined by Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, from their sound crew.

Eponine is there as well and she's preemptively confiscated both Grantaire and Bahorel's phones. Grantaire doesn't even care. He ends up squished against Enjolras with Bahorel on his other side, helpfully taking up as much space as he can to push them even closer together. Grantaire drinks until he can no longer hear his heart pounding in his head and while Enjolras doesn't even drink half as much, his face is flushed bright red.

Enjolras' voice is hoarse from singing all night and the bar is loud. Grantaire uses it as an excuse to lean into Enjolras as they talk, his grip on his bottle tightening as Enjolras speaks right into his ear, rough and husky.

At some point of the night, they end up with their arms folded on the table, shoulders leaning against each other, heads nearly touching. Enjolras must be tired, because that's the only explanation Grantaire can think of for the soft, fond look on his face.

"You're much too drunk to make it all the way back to our hotel room," Enjolras slurs as they're leaving the bar. He wraps his arm around Grantaire's waist and leans against him.

Grantaire laughs softly. "I think _you're_ the drunk one here, Enjolras. Come on."

Eponine gives them a frustrated look as they shuffle along behind the rest of the group. "Really? You're going to do this?"

"He's helping," Enjolras mumbles, turning to Grantaire with a grin that he can't hold back, even though he's clearly trying. "Isn't that right, R?"

Grantaire grins in reply, touching their foreheads together, and is momentarily blinded by a flash coming from the other side of the street.

"Oh, fuck," Eponine says in a low voice. " _Fuck_."

"I can't see," Grantaire complains, rubbing his eyes.

"Combeferre?" Eponine calls. "Courfeyrac?"

There are firm hands on Grantaire's shoulders, pulling him away from Enjolras. He makes a quiet sound of protest, but his vision still hasn't cleared, and it _is_ easier to walk when he doesn't have Enjolras leaning against him. His vision clears by the time they get to the hotel, and he can hear Eponine angrily talking to someone on the phone.

He turns to Courfeyrac, who is still firmly holding his shoulders, with a questioning look. "What's wrong?"

"Someone took a photo," Combeferre says with a frown. "I don't know much beyond that, but as far as Eponine's concerned, it's really not good news."

"There was nothing worth taking photos of," Grantaire says, confused. He's still drunk, he's tired, and he's not particularly happy about the fact that he was pulled away from Enjolras when he doubts they're ever going to be that close again.

"Probably not," Courfeyrac agrees, even though he doesn't sound particularly convinced. "Look, I think it's time we called it a night. We'll find out what we're dealing with tomorrow anyway. There's not much we can do right now."

«·»

When Grantaire wakes up the next morning, Eponine is standing in the balcony, a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She doesn't look like she's had a lot of sleep, and even with the slight hangover he has, Grantaire can tell that something's very wrong.

"Grantaire," she greets him with a strained smile. Everybody else is still asleep, so her voice is quiet. She puts her cigarette out and runs a hand through her hair. "Go get changed and we'll get some coffee."

It's not a request, and Grantaire knows better than to point out that the cup of coffee Eponine is already drinking is strong enough that he can smell it from where he is. He simply nods, grabbing his jeans, a shirt and a jacket and going into the bathroom.

He picks up a scarf on his way out of the door, because it's a chilly morning. His breath mists in front of him, while Eponine lights another cigarette and exhales smoke. He doesn't talk, not entirely sure what's going and not exactly looking forward to finding out. By the time they get to the cafe down the street, Eponine's finished her second cigarette. She orders coffee for both of them, emphasising that they're to go. From there, she leads the way to the tour bus, opening the door for Grantaire before entering after him and shutting the door.

"So, do you remember that photographer from last night?" she asks, and Grantaire frowns, nodding slowly. She sighs heavily, pointing at the table. "They only took one shot but from the looks of it, that's all they needed."

It's a trashy tabloid magazine, but Grantaire feels his heart sinking anyway. He and Enjolras are the main feature on the cover; two separate pictures of them arranged so it looks like they're looking at each other, the large, glaring text claiming to reveal their secrets.

"Really?" he asks, looking up at Eponine.

"Just. Keep going."

He turns to the correct page, and feels like his breath has been punched out of his chest. The picture from last night takes up most of the first page, and the story it tells couldn't be further from the truth. In the photo, they have their arms around each other and they're both smiling fondly, leaning into each other in a way that Grantaire knows is only because of how much they'd been drinking. There is absolutely no other situation that they would do this, but the tabloid doesn't seem to care about that.

The article itself goes on to chronicle what seems to be every single lingering glance they've sent each other's way, every single word of praise they've had for each other, every single photo of Enjolras that Grantaire has posted. Each and every one of them is dissected, given more meaning than Grantaire had ever intended. It's embarrassing but more than that, it's absolutely terrifying.

"Are you okay?" Eponine asks carefully.

In a tiny voice, Grantaire says, "Enjolras is going to be so mad at me."

"Enjolras—" Eponine shakes her head. "Fuck, Grantaire. He's not going to blame you. This isn't your fault, okay?"

"But it _is_ my fault. If I wasn't so fucking obvious about it…"

He falls silent as the door of the bus is flung open and Enjolras rushes in with a panicked, " _Eponine_ —" only to stop short when he sees Grantaire. They stare at each other for a moment, and Enjolras' expression closes up.

It tells Grantaire enough. He gets up, shoving his hands in his pockets and ducking his head so he doesn't have to look Enjolras in the eyes. "I'm just gonna…"

He brushes past Enjolras on his way out, belatedly remembering that he's left his coffee behind. He sighs, not really wanting to go back to the café for another one. Especially not with this story making the rounds.

Grantaire goes back to the hotel room, thankfully managing to avoid running into anyone on his way. The rest of the band is awake now and all Grantaire needs to do is take one look at the crumpled magazine at Bahorel's feet to know that they've all seen the article.

"Hey, man. You okay?" Bahorel asks as soon as Grantaire walks in.

"Have you seen Enjolras?" Marius asks with a small frown. "I can't find him anywhere."

"He's in the bus with Eponine," Grantaire replies. "Having a crisis meeting or something, I don't fucking know. You can imagine how happy he was to run into me. I didn't really stick around."

Combeferre sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed. "This give me a bad feeling about the group interview we've got scheduled for this afternoon."

"We could cancel it?" Courfeyrac suggests, chewing his lower lip. "I don't know. I guess it's Eponine's call."

"She might screen the questions beforehand," Jehan speaks up. "To make sure we're talking about the tour, instead of this article."

"I don't know," Grantaire sighs, shaking his head. "I don't want to know. Is it too early to start drinking?"

"It's not even ten o'clock," Combeferre says gently. "I'll get you some coffee instead."

"With whiskey?"

"With an extra shot of espresso." Combeferre pauses in thought. "And a chocolate donut."

Grantaire gives him a wan smile. "I guess that will do. Thanks."

When Combeferre returns, Enjolras and Eponine are with him. Enjolras is grim-faced and avoiding Granaire's eyes. Grantaire doesn't particularly mind, looking everywhere except for Enjolras anyway, busying himself with his coffee and donut instead.

Eponine decides that they're going ahead with their interview. Pulling out now would make it look like they have something to hide, which they clearly do not. Grantaire stops listening after that point, because all he wants to do is shut himself away until everyone's forgotten about this, until Enjolras has forgotten about it and they can just go back to how things usually are, with Grantaire being stupidly in love and Enjolras having absolutely no idea.

By midday, the internet is abuzz with rumours. Grantaire turns his phone off, because he's getting so many notifications that the only other solution he can think of is smashing it. He sits in the bus with his acoustic guitar in his lap while Bahorel keeps him company, beating out a rhythm with his hands on their table. Grantaire can't focus for long enough to play anything meaningful. He keeps giving their fridge longing looks, desperately wanting a drink, but he knows he's not allowed to until their interview is over. All he needs to do is fake happy, like everything's absolutely fine, for the hour that they have cameras pointed their way. After that, his only plan is to get blind drunk.

The interview starts off fine. Enjolras always interviews well and the rest of the band is happy to let him lead in these situations. He sits in the middle of the table with Combeferre and Courfeyrac on either side of him and they joke around, setting a comfortable mood. Grantaire, sitting at one end of the long table, doesn't expect it to last, but he tries to enjoy it while he can.

They have half of their next album already written and recorded; they'd taken a break from it to go on tour so that their heads would be clear when they sat down with it again. It's a strategy they used for their second album and it seems to have worked for them then, and Enjolras talks about how he's certain it's going to work for them once again.

Most of the questions they get are about the direction they're hoping to go in. Their first album was a national success, their second making it into the worldwide charts. Enjolras has high hopes for their third. Grantaire is, by general principle, not nearly as optimistic. He knows better than to actually voice his thoughts on the matter in interviews, and he's kept to himself entirely so far in this one because it's better than taking his chances.

Unfortunately for him, one of the interviewers picks up on this towards the end. "Grantaire. You've been quiet so far. Does this have something to do with the story published about you and Enjolras today?"

Enjolras sighs loudly. "Do we really need to do this?"

Grantaire stays where he is, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. The interviewer is undeterred, now that they've received a response from Enjolras instead.

"Is there any truth to these rumours? Are you and Grantaire involved with each other? You have to admit that the author of the article presented a convincing argument—"

Clearing his throat, Grantaire leans towards the microphone in front of him, gesturing between Enjolras and himself. "What do you think? Does it _look_ like we are?"

"Exactly." Enjolras' voice is hard, his expression stony. "Grantaire and I are bandmates. Friends. The thought that we are—or _could be_ —more than that is ridiculous and anyone who believes otherwise is clearly deluding themselves."

Grantaire feels the words pierce through his carefully constructed armour of apathy. He isn't sure what kind of expression he makes, but the sudden flurry of camera shutters tells him that it's probably more truthful than anything he would like.

"Are we done?" Enjolras' tone makes it clear that this is not actually a question. He's already rising to his feet, and somewhere through the noise in his head, Grantaire can see the anger in Enjolras' movements. The rest of the band follows suit and they file out of the room. Bahorel places his hand on Grantaire's back at some point as they make their way back to the hotel room and everyone is silent until the door is shut behind them.

Then, Bahorel turns to Enjolras. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?"

"Bahorel, don't," Combeferre says, stepping in between the two of them. "This isn't going to help."

"You didn't see it," Bahorel snarls. "You didn't see R's face but _they_ did, you can fucking bet they did. And when the pictures and videos are all over the internet? That's going to be your fault."

Enjolras frowns. "Why would Grantaire—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Jehan interrupts, and even he sounds angry. "I swear, _both of you_ …"

"Look," Grantaire speaks up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can somebody just tell me where the nearest bar is? I just want to drink enough that I forget today even happened."

"Come on." Bahorel takes him by the arm, leading the way out. Grantaire goes gladly, happy to be out of the room and away from Enjolras.

«·»

The problem is, Grantaire can try to avoid the rumours and speculation, but there's only so long he can manage that. Not only does he wake up with a pounding headache and a bucket he doesn't remember puking into, he wakes up to hundreds of fans sympathising with him and demonising Enjolras, and it only makes him want to throw up _again_.

"Hey." Grantaire stirs when he hears Jehan's voice. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." Grantaire rubs a hand over his face. "Where's Bahorel?"

Jehan sighs. "I sent him to sit in the corner after he tried beating Enjolras up."

Grantaire laughs, even though it makes his head hurt. "With bandages and painkillers?"

"Enjolras didn't fight back."

"What?"

Jehan shrugs, and he doesn't look particularly bothered by it. "Maybe he thought he deserved it."

"It's not his fault," Grantaire says, his heart heavy. "I mean, he was _right_."

Running a hand through his hair, Jehan shakes his head. "One day, the two of you are actually going to sit down and talk to each other, and hell just might freeze over."

"Talk to Enjolras?" Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut. "I think I'd rather enjoy this hangover."

Jehan doesn't even look surprised. "Suit yourself. Painkillers are on the bedside table. The rest of the band has instructions to leave you alone until you decide otherwise. Bahorel has explicit instructions not to offer you anything alcoholic."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"I don't think any of us are having fun right now." Jehan gives Grantaire a sad smile. "I hope you feel better soon."

It takes Grantaire half the day before he stops feeling like death. An hour or so after Jehan leaves him alone, Bahorel comes in and sits down on the bed beside Grantaire's. They don't really talk, but Grantaire appreciates the company all the same.

Grantaire's phone continues to buzz with notifications and messages, every one of them making him feel worse than he already does. Bahorel gets up, pulling the phone out of Grantaire's hands and turning it off, setting it down on the table, out of reach.

"You think you can keep some food down?" Bahorel asks, some time after midday. "I'll get us some lunch."

Grantaire nods. "Take my phone with you while you're gone?"

"Gotcha." Bahorel slides it into his pocket and gives Grantaire a small smile. "We'll head home when you feel like you're up for travelling. A few of the guys went ahead. Enjolras included. He took some convincing."

Grantaire laughs quietly. "Is that so."

"He insisted that he wanted to stay back and talk to you. He wouldn't listen to me when I told him that he was better off giving you some space. So I, uh, gave him a black eye, and now Jehan isn't talking to me."

"I don't imagine that Eponine's very happy with you either," Grantaire says, even though his lips are twitching into a smile.

"Not really, no." Bahorel shrugs. "Just warning you, though. We both know how stubborn Enjolras is. Black eye or not, he's probably going to be waiting for you to get back so you can talk."

Grantaire sighs. "Right. Thanks for the heads-up."

Bahorel reaches over, squeezing Grantaire's shoulder before he leaves to get them some food. By the time he returns, Grantaire is feeling relatively better. He's showered and changed, and the food makes his stomach feel much more settled.

"I should probably make a statement or something," Grantaire says as they eat. "A tweet, maybe. I just want to find a nice way of telling everyone to leave me the fuck alone, and to stop shitting all over Enjolras while they're at it."

Turning his phone back on, Grantaire goes into his settings to disable his notifications. He has a voicemail from Enjolras, which he deletes without listening to. He types out a tweet; _1\. I'm fine, I'll live, I don't want to talk about it. 2. Leave Enjolras alone while you're at it. You're not helping. Thanks._

Bahorel reads over it and nods in approval, so Grantaire posts it, putting his phone on silent and setting it on the table again, just out of his reach.

Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, all from the stage crew, have stayed behind to wait for them. They pile into a taxi to the airport sometime in the late afternoon and Grantaire's glad that they all avoid talking about the interview, about Enjolras, and anything else even remotely related to this entire mess. Bossuet talks about how he nearly broke one of the gigantic stage lights when setting up the other night and Musichetta's fond laughter drowns out the thoughts that would otherwise have Grantaire brooding.

It's a short flight home and Jehan's waiting for them at the airport, even though he's still not saying a single word to Bahorel. There are paparazzi, of course, and Bahorel flips them off as he pushes his way through the crowd, the others following close behind.

Jehan turns to Grantaire once they're in his van. "Enjolras said—"

"Just take me home," Grantaire interrupts. "I'll talk to him, or to Eponine, or even _Valjean_ —if he wants—tomorrow. Right now, I just want to go home and drink and fall asleep. I haven't had a single drink so far today and I'm pretty sure that means I deserve a medal. Or a case of beer."

Luckily for Grantaire, he has several bottles of beer waiting for him in the fridge when he gets home. Bahorel decides that he's staying over, to keep an eye on him. Jehan is so relieved that he starts talking to Bahorel again—even if it is just to thank him.

Enjolras leaves him alone for another day, but Grantaire knows that there's only so long that he can avoid all of this. The day after, Eponine tells him that Valjean's holding a meeting, and that he wants both him and Enjolras there. Grantaire knows better than to argue.

Valjean is equal parts warm and terrifying, and it makes him a good manager. He knows when to be firm, and he knows when not to be. He greets Grantaire with a smile and a gentle hand on his shoulder, ushering him into the office.

"I told Enjolras to come a few minutes late. I thought we could sit and talk for a while."

Eponine is sitting in the corner, because she's better at handling both Grantaire and Enjolras than Valjean is. She gives him a reassuring smile, and drops her gaze back to her phone.

"Look, if I did anything wrong—"

"You're not here because you're in trouble, Grantaire." Valjean sighs softly. "The important thing about this band is that you're all in it _together_. Because you want to be. Because you're friends. I understand that this is a bad situation, for both of you, but…"

"We'll get over it," Grantaire replies. He shrugs. "Or work around it, or something. With any luck, we can just pretend none of this ever happened and just go back to how things were before. I think I liked Enjolras better when he was oblivious."

Eponine mutters something under her breath then, but it's lost in the sound of Enjolras knocking on the door before pushing it open.

"Grantaire," he greets, with a cautious smile. He shuts the door behind him, nodding at both Valjean and Eponine before he sits down in the empty seat beside Grantaire. "Hey."

Grantaire gives Enjolras a strained smile in reply.

"Are you leaving?" Enjolras asks, getting straight to the point. "Are you quitting the band because of… this?"

With a snort, Grantaire shakes his head. "No, Apollo. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good. I don't want you to."

Grantaire tries to hide his surprise at that. Enjolras has never indicated that he _values_ Grantaire as a member of the band, before. Aside from the general praise that he gives to everyone in the band, he's never really said anything particularly nice.

Eponine rolls her eyes.

"We just need to figure out what we're going to do about the rumours currently flying around," Valjean says.

"Ignore them?" Grantaire suggests. "If we don't feed the flames and just keep going with our recording, people are going to get bored and get over it."

Enjolras nods. "Agreed. I just want to get back to work."

"That's settled, then," Valjean says, and even he sounds surprised by how easy it is.

All things considered, that should have been Grantaire's first warning.

The second is when they're making their way to the recording studio afterwards, and he's in the elevator with Enjolras.

"Look, I know we're just going to ignore it when we're in the public eye, but can we talk about—"

"Enjolras." Grantaire's tone is gentle, and he even manages a little smile. "We don't have to talk, okay? I was outed, by a bunch of strangers, in front of the whole damn world. I don't really have anything else to say."

Enjolras takes a deep breath. "So it's true, then?"

Grantaire laughs so loudly that it echoes in the elevator. " _Yes_. I swear to god, you're the most oblivious person I know."

Enjolras turns to him. "And when were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you?" Grantaire asks. "What, that I'm stupidly in love with you? I was planning on _never_."

Enjolras blinks. "You're stupidly—"

"Oh, fuck, can we pretend I didn't say that?" Grantaire rubs a hand over his face, glad when the elevator doors open with a ping. "Can we just. Never talk about this, ever again?"

"…You're drunk, aren't you?"

Grantaire snorts quietly. "You say that like you're surprised."

Enjolras glares at him. "You were drunk for that meeting with Valjean."

"No, Enjolras, I was drunk for that meeting with _you_. Can we drop the subject, now? Can we stop talking?"

The look on Enjolras' face when he walks again is enough of an answer. He doesn't bring it up again and everyone in the band busies themselves with their new songs, meeting with their producer and making sure their songs sound as good as they possibly can.

The media, however, won't seem to leave them alone. Grantaire can't go anywhere without being followed by photographers; without the photos ending up online; without hundreds of strangers overanalysing the fact that Enjolras is somewhere nearby, or the fact that he's _not_. Grantaire has stopped tweeting so often, tired of the way everything he says is dissected, tired of the hundreds upon hundreds of tweets asking him about how things are going with Enjolras.

Most of the time, Grantaire stays as far away from Enjolras as possible. Enjolras has quickly learned to stop trying to talk, because as stubborn as he may be, Grantaire is even worse. Their relationship grows strained, with them only ever talking to each other, or even spending time in the same room when they're working on their album.

"You can't just keep avoiding Enjolras," Bahorel tells him one night, when they're at the bar together.

"Really?" Grantaire laughs hollowly. "Watch me."

With a sigh, Bahorel squeezes Grantaire's shoulder. "You know you're only making things even more difficult for yourself, right?"

"I just don't get it." Grantaire shakes his head. "I was hoping that if I just pulled away, I'd get over it. I'd get over _him_ and then I wouldn't care about any of this. You can guess how well that's been going. I don't _want_ to like him so much, Bahorel. What's the point, when he doesn't even care?"

Sighing, Bahorel lifts his bottle to his lips and takes a long sip. "You really need to talk to Enjolras."

Grantaire snorts quietly. "No thanks."

«·»

Unfortunately for Grantaire, Valjean has other plans. They're finished recording all the songs for their new album, so now they just need to get everything else out of the way before they can start the final push towards an actual release.

Valjean tends to stay back and let them work themselves out most of the time, but the speculation about Grantaire and Enjolras hasn't faded away, and neither has the tension within the band, so he calls a meeting.

This time, Eponine isn't there. Grantaire and Enjolras are made to wait outside Valjean's office for a couple of minutes, sitting in silence. When the door finally opens and Valjean lets them in, they both sit down in front of his desk, not speaking until he clears his throat.

"Well?" He looks between the two of them. "You both know why you're here."

"I've got a general idea, yeah," Grantaire replies, arms folded across his chest. He doesn't look at Enjolras. "Do you feel like being a little bit more specific?"

"You could start with the fact that you haven't said a single word to each other for weeks, unless absolutely necessary," Valjean begins. "I thought we agreed to ignore all of this and just get back to what we were doing before, but I was wondering when I would actually see that happening. It's been a month now, and I've seen no improvement."

"Well, that has a lot to do with the fact that there are still a whole lot of people that are way too invested in whether or not we're dating each other," Grantaire replies. "At least this way, we're not giving them anything to talk about, right?"

"You don't actually believe a word that you're saying, do you?" Enjolras asks, turning to Grantaire. "If that were the case, they would have _stopped_ by now. Don't you realise that you're only feeding the flames this way? The plan was that we wouldn't do anything different, but you've completely changed the way you've started treating me. You didn't think that people would notice that?"

"Oh, well, by all means, Enjolras," Grantaire replies. "Why don't you tell me what you think I should do?"

"I think you should do something that will shut the rumour mill up if it bothers you that much." Enjolras' voice is even, but his expression is angry. "Maybe you should just date someone else so everyone leaves you alone."

Grantaire doesn't speak for a long moment. Then he clears his throat and asks, "Is that a serious suggestion, Enjolras? You actually think that I should just go and find someone else to date?"

"Pretend, if you have to," Enjolras replies with a smile, baring his teeth. "That will stop the speculation, won't it?"

"Okay, two things." Grantaire stands up, turning so that he's facing Enjolras. "One? Fuck you. Two? I'm quitting the band."

"Grantaire—" Valjean begins, but falls silent when Grantaire shakes his head.

"Is that it?" Enjolras asks. "You're just going to walk away. From this. From the entire band. Like a coward."

"Are we done here? I think we're done." Grantaire walks to the door, flipping Enjolras off as he leaves.

It takes less than an hour before the rest of the band finds out, and Bahorel is at Grantaire's door, knocking so hard that it sounds like he's going to punch his way through it.

Jehan is with him, and Courfeyrac is too, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What the _fuck_ , Grantaire?" Bahorel pushes his way into the apartment, immediately beginning to pace in the lounge room. "You can't just quit like that."

"Actually, I can. And I kind of did." Grantaire shrugs. "So if you're here to talk me out of it, you're wasting your time."

"Oh, honestly, now," Jehan mutters, looking at Bahorel. "I know we were staying out of it but I _can't take it_ any more."

Bahorel shrugs in response, and Jehan turns to Grantaire. "Listen to me. I know that you think that Enjolras doesn't care about you the way that you care for him, but he _does_. You've both been completely oblivious to each other's feelings for so long that I've lost track. I thought that it was a little sweet to begin with but now it's just frustrating. _He loves you_ , Grantaire."

Grantaire laughs at that. "You think he loves me? Do you know why I quit in that meeting, Jehan? He told me that if I wanted to put an end to all of this speculation, I should just go find someone else to date."

Bahorel growls under his breath. "I'm going to punch him in the face."

"No you're not," Jehan replies calmly.

"No, _I'm_ going to punch him in the face," Courfeyrac speaks up, shaking his head. "I can't believe him. I can't believe either of you."

With that, Courfeyrac leaves, with Jehan on his heels. Bahorel hangs back for a moment, raising his eyebrow at Grantaire. "Seriously, though, you have no idea. We've been trying to stay out of it, but you can see how well that turned out. He really does care, and he's terrified that he'll fuck it up."

"Well, he's doing a pretty good job of that," Grantaire replies with a mirthless smile.

"I'm going to punch him, and then I'm sending him here to actually talk to you. If you don't listen to each other this time, I swear, I'm beating the crap out of both of you and it's going to feel great."

Grantaire is left with his thoughts, loud and confused as they are. There's a knock on his door barely ten minutes after Bahorel has left and Grantaire opens it, about to comment on how quick that was.

Instead of Bahorel, it's Enjolras. He has his hands in his pockets and smiles cautiously at Grantaire. "Can I come in?"

Grantaire opens his door a little wider and the first thing to come out of his mouth is, "I'm guessing Bahorel didn't get you on your way here."

Enjolras laughs quietly at that, shaking his head. "He didn't. But Combeferre did."

" _Combeferre_?" Grantaire can't help his incredulous laugh.

"We've been going about this all wrong," Enjolras mutters, shutting the door behind him. "We really haven't been listening to each other, and I'm pretty sure that's the problem."

"So we're talking, then."

"Yeah, we're talking. And we're listening. And we're going to try and not interrupt each other this time."

"So how are we doing this?" Grantaire picks up an empty bottle from where it's sitting on the kitchen counter and holds it out. "The one holding the bottle talks and the other one listens?"

"Very funny, Grantaire." Enjolras goes to pull the bottle out of Grantaire's hands.

Grantaire tightens his grip. "I'm stupidly in love with you, Enjolras, and you just suggested that I go find someone else to date. I think I'm entitled to be a little angry."

"I've been trying, for the past month, to tell you that I love you too. Except you wouldn't let me talk for long enough to actually get any of that out. You seemed perfectly happy to ignore me, but then you became angry at me when I assumed you didn't care any more. I'm angry myself."

"Oh." Grantaire can barely hear his own voice over the thud of his heartbeat. "This bodes well for us, doesn't it?"

"We'll work around it," Enjolras replies. This time, when he tries to pull the bottle out of Grantaire hands, Grantaire lets him. It clinks loudly as Enjolras puts it back down on the counter, and Grantaire swallows hard.

"So you want to try anyway?"

"I'd like to. Even if we keep it quiet for now, just to make sure that we can make it work." Enjolras touches Grantaire's hand lightly. "How does that sound?"

"Yeah." Grantaire smiles. "Yeah, I think we could do that."

Enjolras leans in, closing the gap between their lips. Grantaire's arms come up to hold him close and their kisses grow steadily deeper, releasing months and months' worth of pining and frustration. They don't even hear the door open, until Bahorel starts talking.

"I couldn't find Enjolras at his—oh." Bahorel stops short when he sees them, and they quickly pull apart, just in time for Jehan, Courfeyrac and Combeferre to walk in.

"Well," Combeferre looks at both of them, with their hands still resting on each other's sides, and nods in approval. "About fucking time."

Enjolras chuckles, turning back to Grantaire with a fond smile. Grantaire can't help but agree.

«·»

The rumours continue, but neither of them particularly care about that any more. They're careful not to fuel them any further, staying out of the public eye whenever they're together. Once they've made it clear that they're not fighting any more, most of the magazines lose interest in them anyway, which makes things much easier for them.

Now that they're no longer arguing or avoiding each other, it's easy for Grantaire to remember why he'd fallen so hard for Enjolras in the first place. He's warm and caring when they have nights in, at one of their apartments, curled up on the couch together, or forgoing the couch to go straight to bed.

Valjean is more than happy to pretend that Grantaire had never quit the band in the first place, and they continue with production, releasing their third album. It's even more popular than the previous two, which means more publicity, bigger tours, and the entire band is excited about it. It's harder to hide their relationship when they're on the road and even though the rest of the band knows, it still feels strange to be sitting in their tour bus with their arms around each other when everyone else is there.

Not that they let that stop them. When Enjolras is an affectionate mood, it's as if nobody in the world exists except for the two of them. It gets them teased a lot, but Grantaire can't really bring himself to care about that when Enjolras looks at him with warmth in his eyes and a small smile tugging at his lips.

"So," Eponine has trouble keeping the smile off her face when she looks at them together, "are you planning on keeping this a secret, or are you going to make some kind of announcement?"

"Don't think it's something we could keep secret indefinitely," Grantaire replies. "Someone would find out eventually."

"We'll let people know," Enjolras adds. "In our own way."

When Eponine walks away, Grantaire turns to Enjolras and raises an eyebrow. "Our own way, huh? Why do I have a feeling that this is going to be end up being some kind of grand gesture?"

"Is that a problem?" Enjolras asks.

Laughing, Grantaire shakes his head before he presses a kiss to Enjolras' lips. "Not at all. Knock yourself out."

Enjolras doesn't need to be told twice. They're playing the first concert of their tour that night and when they're finished playing their last song before the encore, Enjolras crosses the stage to where Grantaire is, right in front of a stadium full of fans, and pulls him into a kiss. It's a brief one, barely anything more than the press of lips against lips.

The audience cheers even louder than before and when they pull apart, they're both grinning. Grantaire turns to the audience, pointing at Enjolras, then himself. There's another cheer and Grantaire laughs, pushing his guitar out of the way so he can pull Enjolras closer and kiss him properly. Enjolras moans into their kiss this time, and _that's_ something Grantaire wants to explore, preferably when they have a room and several hours to themselves.

This time when they pull apart, Enjolras' face is flushed bright red and it makes Grantaire fall in love with him even more. They take each other's hand, waving at the crowd before they follow the others backstage.

"That was pretty grand." Grantaire is still laughing with delight, and pulls Enjolras into another kiss.

"You didn't mind?"

"What, kissing you in front of hundreds of people? You mean the things that made an awesome night even better?"

Enjolras smiles at that, and Courfeyrac clears his throat.

"Guys? We need to get back out for the encore soon."

They pull apart, nodding. Later, after the encore, after the concert's ended and they're curled up in the hotel bed together, Grantaire reaches for his phone and types out a simple tweet; _Yeah, it's true. Yeah, I love him. #luckiestguyever_


End file.
